


Nowhere Man

by badcircuit



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Language, One Shot, POV First Person, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/pseuds/badcircuit
Summary: MCU post-CATWS Bucky vs a Smithsonian security guard who can’t leave well enough alone.





	

I'll admit it.  I have a weakness for strays.  I’m a sucker for a sad pair of eyes and needy body language.

Several times a week for the past month I’d seen him shuffling around the Captain American exhibit where I work—always visiting the James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes memorial last.  The people flowed around him, kids skipping excitedly from display to display, and he stood there still as a statue. 

He made the other security guards and the docents uneasy, which is understandable these days, but I like to think I’ve got good instincts when it comes to people.  I’m the same way with critters, too.  My mother always warns me about messing with strange animals but so far, I’ve never been bitten.  This guy reminded me of a scraggly cat that keeps coming around, letting you creep up close before darting away. 

Not that he was scraggly-looking exactly.  He wore a Yankees baseball hat over shaggy hair, pulled down just enough to shadow his eyes.  His facial hair looked fairly new so it wasn’t unkempt yet but would be very soon.  His jeans and jacket weren’t filthy but they definitely seemed slept in.  He hadn’t looked directly at me but being an expert in all downtrodden creatures, I knew what I’d see if he finally did.

It took another week or so before that finally happened.  I forced it because although I'm generally a patient person, I'm no saint, and I was tired of waiting.  I wasn't even sure what I was going to do with him but as I've already said, I've never met a stray I didn't at least try to pet.

I didn't miss the way he went even more still when I sidled up next to him.  If he was a cat, he'd have been arching and hissing a warning.  "You're creeping my co-workers out coming in here so much." 

"What about you?"  His voice sounded rough, as if he'd didn't talk much.  "You're not 'creeped out'?"

"Nah," I shrugged.  "If you were going to do something, you would have by now."

He made a noise that sounded like amusement.  "You're sure about that." 

"I am.  Don't know why, but I am."

I felt his eyes on me so I met his gaze.  I saw what I expected to see:  suspicion, confusion, need.  I saw something else too and it rattled me, made me break eye contact first.  He looked haunted.    

A few minutes passed as we stared at the Bucky memorial.  That stillness in him had eased but only slightly.  The cat that I imagined him as was no longer bristling but was warily watching, waiting to flee.  Or lash out. 

When he cleared his throat, I jumped, which I'm sure he didn't miss.  "What do you want?  For me to go?  Am I being kicked out?"

"What?  No."

"Then what?

Something else about me—I don't always think things all the way through.  I'd been so focused on confronting him, I hadn't really thought about what would happen after that.  "Wanna get coffee?  Maybe something to eat?"

He made that sound again; he was definitely amused.  "What does that have to do with me scaring your co-workers?"

"Nothing but I couldn't think of anything else to open with.  Plus it's true."  I rubbed the back of my neck. "So..."  I glanced at my phone.  "I'm off in 30 minutes.  We could meet at Corner Bakery on 14th."

I could feel him looking at me again, studying me.  His cat self was intrigued, only the very tip of his tail twitching slowly, back and forth.   Pounce or run away?

"Just think about it," I said.  "I'll be there regardless."

~

Twenty minutes passed while I waited.  He wasn't going to show.  Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  I was getting my money out to pay for my coffee when I saw the familiar baseball cap.  After shrugging off the backpack he always carried, he slid into the seat across from me and surveyed the handful of other customers and the staff.  Apparently satisfied with whatever he was scanning for, he finally looked at me. 

"I'm here.  Now what?"

I laughed loud enough to cause people to look over.  "Well hello to you too," I said, pushing the menu at him.  "Thought you chickened out."

The waiter, Nick, came over just then and refilled my mug.  "Coffee for you, sir?"  My dining companion nodded and flipped open the menu while Nick turned his mug over and filled it. 

"I know what I want," he said.  He was brusque to the point of rudeness, clearly not a people person.  Or maybe just out of practice dealing with the civilized world.  Kind of like a dog that's been living on its own for a while.  It's skittish, maybe it growls when approached suddenly because it's been yelled at or kicked but it warms up if you give it a little time.  First he was a cat, now a dog.  I pressed my lips together to hold in a chuckle.

Nick was unfazed.  I'd seen him deal with much worse.  He took the order for three eggs, scrambled, with bacon, hash browns, white toast, with a side of pancakes, and orange juice and then turned to me with a look that said _What a prize_.

I ordered my usual grilled cheese and tomato soup and once Nick was gone, busied myself with adding lots of cream and sugar to my coffee.  "I'm Layla.  My parents were big Clapton fans." 

He didn't react at all.  It was like he had no idea what I was talking about.  He drank his black coffee and then glared down into the mug like it was the worst he'd ever had.  "I'm not sure what my name is.  Something happened... I don't remember much." 

Wow.  I wasn't expecting that.  No wonder he looked homeless.  For the first time since I'd seen him, he looked truly vulnerable.  It didn't last long but it was enough to nail me.  He was going to have a hard time getting rid of me now.

"Damn, that sucks."  He looked at me like _No shit Sherlock_ and I felt like a total idiot.  "I'm so sorry."    

After a couple of minutes of awkward silence he said, "I think my name is... James."

"Like James Buch—"  The food arrived so I waited while Nick laid out our spread and made sure we had what we needed. Shit, that bacon looked amazing. "Like James Buchanan Barnes from the Bucky memorial?  Is that why you visit so often?"

I waited while he slathered butter on each pancake and drowned them in syrup then shoved a forkful into his mouth.  Realizing that I was staring, I dug into my food, spending an inordinate amount of time dunking my grilled cheese into my soup.  I wasn't going to gawk at the way he licked his lips or how he sucked syrup off of his thumb. 

Finally he said, "Something like that." 

Now that I could finally see his face, I was shocked to see that he looked like Bucky.  It was uncanny, really.  A haircut and a shave and they could almost be twins.  Which of course, was nuts but it didn't stop me from bringing it up.  "You know, you look a little like him.  Bucky, I mean."

He made a sound, neither agreement nor disagreement, and kept right on decimating his food.  He ate all the pancakes first then the eggs then the hash browns before making sandwiches out of the bacon and toast.  I can't help noticing things like that; I spend all day watching people and it's just what I do.  I also noticed that he hadn't removed the black glove  he was wearing on his left hand and that he kept that hand mostly hidden under the table.  I wanted to ask about it but honestly, it was none of my business.   

"So what's with that glove?"  Did I mention that my mouth sometimes has a mind of its own?

He finished chewing and swallowing then took a long drink of orange juice.  After setting the glass down with care, he pinned me with a look that made the top of my scalp tingle.  I really shouldn't have asked. 

"It's an old injury.  Not for the faint of heart."  He brought the hand in question up, flexing his fingers and then balling them into a fist, making the leather creak. 

If that was meant to scare me off, it didn't work.  "I'm not squeamish."  He stared, expressionless; I smiled pleasantly.

When Nick arrived with the check, I snatched it out of maybe-James' hand.  "I invited you so I'm paying."  He shrugged and finished his coffee.

It was nearly dark when we stepped outside and I watched as he scanned the people passing by.  Was he looking for someone or was someone looking for him? 

"Well, thanks for coming.  It was... interesting."

He smirked.  "Now you're 'creeped' out?"  He didn't make air quotes but I could hear them.

"I didn't mean that in a bad way.  You're a mystery and I'm interested in helping you.  If you want help, that is."  I smiled; he looked suspicious.  "Anyway, you know where to find me if you need anything, maybe-James."

I turned to walk away but he stopped me with that gloved hand.  We both looked down at it and he pulled it back like touching me had burned him.  "Wait.  I'll walk you home."

"I've been walking myself home for a long time," I said, raising a brow.  "I can handle myself."

He huffed and hoisted his backpack higher.  "I believe that but it would help me.  Make me feel better if I saw you to your door."

I nodded, grinning.  "Help you, huh?  Well played.  And so chivalrous.  Come on, then."

We walked in silence.  I was enjoying the light breeze and the way that the city gets quieter in the evening, so that you can hear the birds settling down for the night.  He was doing that thing where he was scanning our surroundings, but again I couldn't decide if he was the hunted or the hunter.

"Expecting someone?"

"What?"  He looked spooked.  It stirred up my inexplicable protectiveness of him a little more.    

"It's pretty safe in this neighborhood thanks to gentrification."  He cocked his head like he didn't understand but I let it slide.  I wasn't in the mood to go off on that tangent.  "You look like you're waiting for all hell to break loose."

"You shouldn't let your guard down."  He gave me a hard look, his mouth a grim line, before staring off into the distance, and I was sure he was talking about something else, some other time.  "That's when bad things happen."   

"I won't.  I don't.  Did you know that my job title is Physical Security Specialist and that I'm classified as a special police officer?  I told you before, I can take care of myself."

He didn't say anything to that but the quirk of his lips told me he wasn't convinced.

"Hey, this is me."  I tipped my head in the direction of my place.  "Thanks for playing bodyguard.  See you at the museum, maybe-James."

He grunted in the affirmative, but then narrowed his eyes as I walked to my door.  "Where are you going?"

"I rent the basement.  The door's back here." 

He followed, hovering behind me as I walked down the three steps,  unlocked the door, and switched on a light.  "See?  Home, safe and sound.  Thanks again." 

Frowning, he looked into my place and then around the area outside, which was quiet except for the occasional car driving by.  "You're welcome.  Layla."

~

Several hours passed as I mindlessly flipped through the TV channels and drank a couple of hard ciders.  Why hadn't I asked him if he had a place to stay?  What would I have done if he'd said he didn't have one?  There were plenty of people I saw at the museum on a regular basis who were clearly in need of a little help.  Why did I care about this person so much?

It was late but I called my mother.  She never went to bed until after the late news and I often called her at the end of my night, so she wouldn't worry.

"Hey mom.  What's going on there?"

"Layla.  Everything's fine here.  Are you okay, sweetheart?" 

"I'm fine, mom."

"But— ?"

I laughed; my mom can see through me, even from hundreds of miles away.  "Oh, you know.  Just my usual stupidity.  There's this... stray, hanging around work."

Mom clucked her tongue.  "Ah, a stray."

"Yeah.  You know me.  I want to help him but he's cagey."  I thought of our dinner date and added, "He let me feed him today."

Mom snorted.  "Progress!"

"And he's probably got issues."

"Probably?"  Her laugh ended in a sigh.  "What do you want me to say, Layla?  You've already got your mind made up."

I thought of him out there somewhere, biding his time until the museum opened up again and sighed, too.  "Yeah, I do."

"Be careful, honey.  You know what feral animals are capable of."

"I do, mom.  That's why I haven't had any trouble so far."

She clucked again.  "So far.  There's a first time for everything.  Dad says to watch your ass.  Love you."

"Love you too."

Disconnecting, I sighed heavily again, kicking myself for not asking about where he was staying.  Oh well, he was a big boy and he'd been getting by without my help up to this point.  I had to quit obsessing and get my butt in bed so I could be up bright and early and at my post when he showed up.  I rinsed my bottles, put them in the recycling box, got my pajamas on, and was brushing my teeth when I thought I heard something.  Shutting the water off quickly, I listened, the silence getting louder as I wiped my mouth dry and strained my ears.  There it was again, knocking.

I pulled up the security app on my phone and selected the camera trained on my door.  Making a quick pit stop, I hurried over and yanked it open before he could knock again.

"What do you want from me?"  He looked as agitated as I felt, as if he'd been wandering around trying to figure out my angle all this time.

"Nothing.  Just to help."  I put my hands up, palms out, the universal gesture for 'I come in peace'.  "You look like you could use a little."

His eyes narrowed, darting from my hands to my face, presumably searching for some hint of ulterior motives.

"You can crash on my couch for the night.  If you don't have a place to go."  I stepped to the side so he could see it.

"I've got places to go," he said, sounding offended.  He didn't budge though.

"But you're here now and it's late.  If you're coming in, you need to do it now because I've got work tomorrow."

"It's dangerous for a woman to invite a strange man into her house.  How do you know I won't hurt you?"

"We already discussed how you would have done something by now if you really wanted to.  Besides, I keep telling you I can protect myself.  I've got martial arts training."  Reaching into my robe pocket, I pulled out what I'd grabbed on the way to the door and pointed it at his chest.  "And I've got this gun."

He looked from it to me and smiled, a real smile that changed his face, softened the hard angles.  "Modern women," he said, shaking his head.  "I'll sleep on your couch."

Puzzling over that modern women comment, I let him in and locked up.  I got out an extra toothbrush left over from the dentist, a towel, some blankets, and one of the pillows from my bed.  "Bathroom's right there.  Make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever."  I was babbling but stopped abruptly as he took off the baseball cap and ran his fingers through that shaggy hair with a weary sigh.

"Go to bed, Layla.  I'm fine.  Thank you for the hospitality."  He rubbed his face with the gloved hand then yawned and gave me another tired smile. 

"Um.  Ok.  Goodnight."  I went to my room and watched briefly as he shrugged out of his backpack and jacket and stood to arrange the pillow and blankets.  I closed the door and locked it, wincing at the sound of it clicking into place.  He'd want me to lock the door, I thought.  He was probably out there smiling about it right now.  Climbing into bed, I laid very still, listening.  After the clump clump sound that must have been his boots hitting the floor, it got quiet again.

I tossed and turned, thinking about his question.  _What do you want from me?_   I thought about that smile and how it had changed his face.  He trusted me, just a little.  It was true I wanted to help him but that was suddenly getting mixed up with something else I didn't want to think about just yet.  Trust was nice for a start and I wouldn't betray that trust for anything. 

~

I woke up late, of course, muzzy-headed and confused about what day it was.  Then I remembered that I had a guest, if he hadn't disappeared back to wherever it was he went when he wasn't at the museum.  Fresh clothes in hand, I cracked the door open as silently as I could and peeked out, strangely comforted by the sight of him sprawled on the couch, still in his shirt and pants, his arm over his face, his mouth slack as he slept on.

Once showered and dressed, I penned a note apologizing for not making breakfast and reminding him to lock up when he left.  I made it in with five minutes to spare, just enough time to choke down some vending machine doughnuts and a coffee.  I lasted two hours—two long hours of jaw-cracking yawns and daydreaming about what maybe-James was doing—before I decided to take the rest of the day off.

I half expected him to be gone.  My heart dropped when I saw that the couch was empty but then the shower turned on and it leapt up into my throat.  I could have called out that I was home.  I really should have.

I didn't.

Instead I waited, listening for the shower door to open and close.  I let my wayward feet carry me toward the bathroom, my heart pounding harder the closer I got.  He'd left the door half open so I couldn't help but see his body through the glass, blurred by water droplets and steam. Now that I'd seen him, I could go to my room and pretend I hadn't.

I didn't.

Something was different but I couldn't wrap my head around what I was seeing.  A lot of golden skin and no dark smudge that would indicate he still had that glove on.  In fact, his left arm wasn't golden at all.  It was pale, very, very pale except for a red blob on his shoulder.  Not white but shiny like... silver?  No.  Nope. 

The water abruptly shut off and the door banged open.  He was angry but it barely registered.  Outside of that arm thing, his body was amazing—wide, muscled shoulders, rippling pecs and abs, perfect tight ass.  I couldn't stop my eyes from drifting lower.  There definitely wasn't anything wrong with his—

"I told you it wasn't for the faint of heart.  What are you doing back here anyway?"

"Um, it's my home?  I left work sick.  I didn't sleep well last night.  And I told _you_ , I wasn't—I'm not—squeamish."

"Your face suggests otherwise."  He snatched up a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he climbed out of the shower.  The arm gleamed, the drops of water on it catching the early morning sun that flooded in through the egress window. 

"I'm just surprised.  Confused.  I thought you'd be gone but the bathroom door was open and I was going to close it but then I just... saw you and I... What _is_ that?"

He'd been turned away so that I couldn't see that wonky left arm but now he faced me so I could get a good, long look.  The worst part of it was where it had been attached; the skin was waxy pink and puckered scar tissue.  The arm itself was made up of small plates, kind of like armor.  The red blob I'd seen was a star.  While I stared, he made a fist, bent the arm and flexed his bicep.  I could hear a faint mechanical whine as the plates shifted to allow for full range of motion.  "Leave," he snapped, and then added, softer, "Let me put something on at least.  Then we can talk."

~

I made coffee while I waited for maybe-James to come out of the bathroom to talk to me about the thing that passed for his left arm.  Keeping busy has always helped to calm my nerves and clear my head.  Not like I was nervous exactly, or scared even, though I had every right to be.  Metal arms aren't normal.  That was some next level, bionic shit.  I reminded myself that I was the one who started this.  I could have just left well enough alone. 

He finally came out, eyeing me warily, like I was the threat.  "Coffee?" I offered, not sure what else to say to break the tension.

"No, thanks."  Still shirtless, he sat on my couch and gestured at the chair next to it, on his left side.  "Come sit and I'll tell you what I know.  What I remember."

I sat, holding my mug with both hands, waiting.  I could see that he was struggling to begin so I asked again, "What is this?"  Leaning closer, I reached out and touched it, with just my index finger.  Definitely some kind of metal, it was cooler than I expected.  He lifted the arm to push his hair back behind his ear and again, I marveled at how it shifted and moved like a real arm.  I thought about the kind of biomechanics involved to make such a thing possible, and then about how it must be attached to his body to make it work like that.  I had to set my coffee down and grip my chair to keep myself steady.  "Maybe you could put a shirt on and then tell me what the hell happened to you."

He had the shirt balled up in the normal hand and put it on per my request.  "Are you going to be alright?" he asked, starting to reach towards me with the bionic one then thinking better of it.

"Sure.  Just trying to process what I'm seeing."  I waved a hand at him.  "Talk.  I'll be fine.  Probably."  I laughed weakly, thinking about what my mom had said.  _"There's always a first for everything."_ Fucking indeed.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.  "I lost my arm in a fall.  We were at war and the people I was fighting with had every reason to believe that the fall killed me but it didn't.  Obviously.  Although most of the time, I wish it would have."  Then almost to himself, he added, "When I finally remembered that, I wondered why the fall wasn't mentioned in the exhibit.  Steve was there."

I'd been trying to do some math in my head to determine what war he might have meant when his words penetrated my racing thoughts.  "Wait.  Exhibit?  What exhibit? Steve who?"

He looked like he was trying to figure out how to take back what he'd just said.  In the end, he just answered my question, my sanity be damned.  "Steve Rogers.  The Bucky exhibit."

I looked around my apartment, unable to look at maybe-James, wondering how this had all gone so far left so fast.  I looked at that bionic arm thing, looked at him flexing its fingers, like _he_ was nervous, and barked out a laugh. 

"So...like James Buchanan Barnes," I said, repeating what I'd said the day before at dinner.  "Are you trying to tell me that's your name?  That's who you think you are?  Wait a second before you answer."  I went to the kitchen, took some ibuprofen, then sat back down.  "Ok.  Go on."

"Steve Rogers was my best friend.  He was there when I fell.  I'm like him, only I didn't volunteer for this like he did with Project Rebirth.  I'm not like this willingly."  On the word 'this', he held out the arm then pulled it back when I winced.  "He knows that, knew it when I didn't remember who either of us was.  I was trying to kill him.  That's when he told me who I was and I started to remember.  I'm Bucky."

I thought about how he kept coming to the exhibit, staring at it like he was studying it, and it all made sense.  It was crazy as shit but now I understood.  If Captain America exists, it was entirely possible for Bucky Barnes to be here in my living room, cradling that bionic arm against his body and rubbing it absently like it ached.

I got back to the important questions.  "You say you were trying to kill him.  And that _that_ —," I said, pointing at the arm, "was done against your will.  Explain please."

"Hydra made me like this."  He registered my sharp intake of breath before continuing.  "They found me after I fell, half-dead and broken, kept me alive and put this on me.  They programmed me.  They made me into a weapon and used me.  Steve was my latest mission but thanks to him I failed.  I've been laying low since then, trying to remember everything and figure out what to do next.  I won't go back to them.  I'd rather die."

God, he looked so lost.  "Nobody's going to die," I said, rubbing my temples.  What a fucking mess. 

"You believe me," he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

"It's nuts but I do.  I need to know though...you've hurt people?"

He looked me in the eye.  "Hurt and worse.  But only when they make me."

"And how do they make you?"  I dragged my hands down my face, closing my eyes briefly. 

"There are some words, a sequence of words.  It's like hypnosis and I have to comply.  I see myself doing things, terrible things.  There are a lot of things I still don't remember but I remember the missions.  If they find me..."  He trailed off and looked away, letting out a shuddering breath. 

I thought of some pitbulls, trained by awful people to be vicious fighters, sometimes killers.  You could hate what they did and also understand that they weren't born that way.  I thought of that reel in the exhibit that showed Steve and Bucky, smiling, happy.  Maybe-James—no, Bucky—looked ashamed and despondent.  As he'd said, broken. 

"They won't find you.  Not here anyway.  You can stay until you decide what you're going to do next."

"I shouldn't."  He sighed wearily, starting to get up.

"Will you hurt me?"  My instincts said no.  I felt bad asking but I had to.

He froze, looking horrified.  "No!"

 _Not willingly_.  He didn't say it but after what he'd just told me, it was there between us nonetheless. "Ok.  Sit down.  You're staying.  Just don't make me regret it."

~

We settled into a routine.  We ate breakfast together, I went to work on the days I had to, then came home, had dinner with Bucky and hunkered down for the evening.  I'd convinced him to stay away from the museum, not because I didn't want to see him as much as possible, but because if I was someone who was looking for him, that would be the first place I'd look.  Sometimes we watched television, or rather, I watched and Bucky scowled or looked baffled at most of the programming.  He liked to read and me being a book hoarder, I had plenty for him to choose from.  It was nice when we both read, sharing my small living room in companionable silence.  Sometimes he talked about what he remembered, and he stuck to mostly good things, like growing up with Steve.  Occasionally, he mentioned things he remembered about his time with Hydra, things that made my throat ache with suppressed tears.  A few times, he woke me up at night crying out in his sleep, awful wrenching moans and pleas of 'Don't' and 'Stop'.  I wanted to comfort him but I kept my distance.    

Bucky wasn't the one who couldn't be trusted.  It was me.  I was crushing on him hard.  If I touched him—even a pat on the arm or a hug—who knows what I'd do next?  Me and my modern woman proclivities might scare him off and I didn't want him to go any sooner than he had to.

A week went by of chilling at home and occasionally sneaking out at night for food.  Outside of his occasional nightmares, things were quiet, uneventful, just the way we wanted them.  Of course, I was the one who blew it.

We were sitting on the opposite ends of the couch.  I was reading and Bucky was on my laptop.  I'd taught him the basics of using it and he liked to Google things.  He was a big fan of clicking "I'm Feeling Curious". 

Bucky made a sound of frustration.  "Layla, I can't get back to where I was."   

Every time he said my name, it caught me off guard and gave me a fluttering feeling in my stomach.  After I got my shit together, I scooted down next to him and showed him how to look at his browser history.  "See, here's where you were.  Just click whichever one you want to go back to."

Turning towards me, he smiled.  It was something he did more of these days and each one snatched another little piece of my self-control.  "Thanks."

Before he could turn back, I kissed him.  It was so fast, our lips barely touched but mine tingled like I'd touched them to a live wire.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done that," I said.

"Why shouldn't you have done that?"  He set the laptop aside, giving me his full attention.

"You didn't ask for it.  You probably don't want to."

"But what if I do?"  He smiled again, a different smile.  The kind of smile that had surely made the ladies swoon back in the day.  I was definitely feeling swoony.

"Well..."  When I didn't move, he leaned toward me slowly, too slowly, but it was worth the wait.  His lips were gentle and easy, so sweet it was like my first kiss minus the awkward fumbling. I pulled back enough to catch my breath.  He stayed right where he was, watching me through the hair that was constantly falling into his face.  "Wow.  I guess you do.  That was nice."

Bucky grinned, something he had yet to do, and which destroyed my remaining willpower.  "Again?"

I didn't answer but I guess my staring at his lips was answer enough.  He did another slow-mo advance but this time, I met him halfway and after another moment of chasteness, I went for a little tongue action.  The sound he made—somewhere between a groan and a growl—goaded me on.  I sunk my fingers into his hair, something I'd been itching to do since the first time he took his ball cap off.  He liked that too, circling an arm around my waist to pull me closer as he kissed me harder, deeper.  When I threw my leg over his to climb into his lap, he didn't object, only shifted to allow me to get comfortable.  His tongue was working some serious magic and I moaned, thinking about his mouth in other places, how his hair would tickle my skin and his evening stubble would leave a pleasant burn.  As if he read my mind, he worked his way down, nibbling on my neck, sucking on my collarbone.  I could feel him getting harder beneath me with each sound of pleasure I made, and I couldn't keep myself from grinding on him, just the slightest rocking of my hips.  He moved his arm from around my waist, spreading his big hand against the small of my back, encouraging me.  I needed more.  I'd been gripping his shoulder, holding on for dear life and I skimmed my hand down his arm, my lust-fogged mind taking a moment to register the change from warm skin to the cool material of his left arm through the thin material of the long sleeved tee he had on.

_Rrrriiiiip._

We broke apart, both of us breathing hard, and looked down.  Apparently, instead of touching me with his robot hand, he'd been strangling the couch cushion and it had given up the ghost.

"Damn it.  Sorry."  Bucky released the cushion, staring down at his hand like he wanted to tear it off.

I smiled to try to lighten the mood.  "It's ok, really.  I got it at a thrift shop.  Now where were we?"

My attempt at levity didn't work.  "Layla,  I don't know..." 

He went to put his hand out of sight, behind his back, but I grabbed it.  "Because you don't want to now?  Or because of this?  I'm not scared.  I know you won't hurt me."  I unballed his fist, one finger at a time, and guided it to my chest.  "I want you to touch me."

His throat moved as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to mine then away to his hand.  So much pain there, so much shame.  "This has done bad things." 

I moved it from the center of my chest to one of my breasts and held it there, letting him feel how wound up I was, if the metallic material allowed for that.  "It can do good things.  To me in particular.  We can purify it."

"That's ridiculous," he huffed, trying to glare at me but I could see him struggling to hold onto it. 

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you.  I've tried very hard to keep my hands and lips to myself.  I'll understand if you don't want me like I want you, but I'll be mad if you do want me but deny yourself because of things that happened in the past—or worse, if you think you don't deserve happiness, even if it's just for a little while."

He was silent for a few minutes, digesting my rambling admission.  My heart dropped when he shifted his hand from my boob to my waist but instead of shoving me away, he brought his other hand up and gave my thigh a squeeze.  The heat of his actual skin burned through the weight of my jeans.  "Only your hands and lips?" he asked.

In the small smile he gave me, I could see the Bucky from the museum reel, young and untouched by tragedy, and it shook me.  "Real smooth.  I bet you had to fight the ladies off back in the day.  I'm picturing you in uniform.  Jeez."

He screwed his face up and I thought I might have said the wrong thing then I realized he was literally trying to remember.  "I may have done alright."

"Alright—ha!  Just tell me you didn't forget the good stuff."

"What good stuff?" He looked at me like that day we had lunch when I'd told him my name, like he was clueless.  Then he laughed, so hard I might have fallen off of his lap if he'd hadn't been holding me there.  "God, your face.  You look so disappointed.  Don't worry, I'm just a bit...rusty."

I smacked him on the chest.  "You're just full of jokes all of a sudden."  I rubbed the spot I'd hit although I was sure I hadn't done any damage.  He was built like a brick shithouse.  "Wait a minute.  How rusty are we talking, Tin Arm Man?"

"Wizard of Oz, right?  I remember that now."  He went silent again for a minute and I realized he was starting to blush.  "Of course, I remember the basics but I'm a little...out of practice."

Ah, the rustiness.  I didn't say so but I was a little out of practice, too.  We could get up to speed together.  "Would your old-fashioned sensibilities be offended if I took the lead?"

"Modern women," he muttered, ducking his head and hiding behind all of that hair to keep me from seeing his blush in full bloom.  "Go ahead."

I thought briefly about how he'd spent so many years under someone else's control, unable to choose for himself and I felt honored but it wasn't the time or place to be getting emo.  I wanted his lips on mine again, wanted his hands all over my body, wanted him as hot for me as I already was for him.  Brushing his hair out of the way, I tipped his face up and kissed him.  His look of disappointment when I climbed off of his lap was comical but disappeared quickly when I knelt on the couch beside him and undid his jeans.  I stroked his cock, rock hard beneath the soft cotton of his briefs.  "I have an idea." 

His head had lolled back and he looked at me through eyes droopy with lust.  "Yeah?"

I stopped what I was doing and sat up.  "Yeah.  I think you should tell me what to do, the whole way through." 

Now he lifted his head and gave me a slow once over, considering it.  My nipples hardened under his gaze and I was sure he could see them even through the thick fleece of my sweatshirt.  "Whatever I want?" he asked.

"Whatever, exactly how you want it."  Let him be the one running the show for a change.

He hesitated, biting his lip.  "Take off your shirt, please."  I complied then fingered the waistband of my joggers, asking with my eyes.  "Those too.  Please."  Without waiting for the next order, I ditched my plain Jane underwear then resumed my position on the couch.  His left hand was cool against my hot skin as he brought me close but stopped short of kissing me.  "I didn't tell you to do that."

"My underwear?  Or this?"  I slid my hand back in his pants and gave him a squeeze. "I can stop."

"Both."  He smiled and laughed softly, his breath warm on my face.  "No, don't."

Our kiss started out tender and sweet until I slipped my hand into his shorts and wrapped my hand around his cock.  With a moan, he took over, holding me by the back of the neck while he skimmed his left hand down my back and into my panties.  The kiss took on a new urgency as he slicked those cool fingers in my wetness, my hand sped up as he eased one inside me.  "You should get naked, too," I gasped out, momentarily forgetting the rules of the game.

"Who's giving the orders around here again?" he asked, taking his lips and touch away but not stopping my hand job.

"Sorry.  You are."

"Ok then, undress me.  Please."

Laughing, I worked to get him out of his shirt and jeans.  "You really don't have to keep saying please."  I paused at his briefs and then pulled them down too.  As good as he'd felt in my hand, he looked way better, his cock hard and ready against his lightly furred belly, balls drawn up tight with excitement or maybe nerves.  He was big all over without being bulky, the kind of broad-shouldered, thick-thighed build that made me think of rugby players.

"Can't help it."  He beckoned for me but I had to tend to a little business. 

With a shrug, I held up the condom I'd fetched from my bedroom.  "Boring but necessary 21st century accessories."

He got a funny look then laughed.  "I just remembered how much rubbers were pushed at us during the war.  One of the propaganda films said something like 'Don't forget — put it on before you put it in.'"

"So me being buck naked, waving a condom at you is a memory booster?"  I moved closer to him, just out of reach, and enjoyed the way he ate me up with his eyes.

His big grin faded, leaving behind his usual seriousness but a different kind of intensity that raised goose bumps on my skin and made my pussy ache with want.  "A booster for sure."  A hint of a smile returned as he watched my eyes drop to his crotch.  "Come put it on me."

I put it on with my mouth and lingered a while, until his breath got shallow and choppy and he abruptly stopped me by lifting me onto his lap.

"Didn't tell you to do that either."  That cool finger again, circling my clit lightly, teasing.

I smirked, unrepentant.  "What're you gonna do about it?

Shaking his shaggy head, he dragged his cock back and forth against my tender skin then pushed just the tip in.  "Maybe I'll think of something later.  When I can actually form a thought." 

Laughing, I slid my arms around his neck and sunk down, taking the rest of him in so fast and deep it stung a little.  His little oomph of surprise turned into groan of desire as I found my rhythm and I laughed some more.  People think sex has to be serious and sometimes it is but sometimes it's so perfect, so mindlessly beautiful, you can't help but laugh and be overjoyed about it.

He stopped nibbling my neck to give me puppy dog eyes, something I didn't think he was capable of and which set off a round of giggling.  "Am I that bad?"

"You know you're not.  I'm just happy.  You're cute when you're horny.  I like it." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah."  My yeah ended with a gasp as he stood up, walked us into my bedroom, laid me out on the bed and continued to fuck me.  He had me pinned down with his pounding hips and his hot, wet kisses, and when I began to clutch at his back and ass to make him go faster, he pinned my wrists down on either side of my head, too.

"Easy," he scolded then bent to torment my breasts.  The feel of his stubble and mouth on me was everything I'd imagined and then some, and soon, I was writhing and bucking because it was almost too much. 

If my hands had been free, I would have grabbed him by the hair.  "Kiss me," I begged, my voice needy and desperate.  When he did, he worked his tongue against mine to the same rhythm of his hips and it was like a direct connection to my clit.  So close and yet I needed just a little more...

Bucky slowed, stopped.  Shushing my whimpers, he started again, taking his time.  _Shallow shallow deep.  Shallow shallow deep._ Each time a little faster until I thought I might pass out from the pleasure.  My orgasm built like steam in a kettle then burst out of me with a scream and I wrapped my legs around his hips to pull him in deeper as his pace faltered and he came, too.

I stroked back strands of hair that clung to his damp cheeks and neck as we caught our breath.  He went to touch my face with his robot hand and I turned, kissing the palm of it and then I kissed the tips of his fingers and thumb, too.  "Purified," I said.

"I appreciate the gesture but it's going to take a lot more than that," he said, giving me a blissed out smile tinged with sadness.

I snuggled close, ready for a post-sex nap.  "We'll work on it some more.  We've got a lot of lost time to make up for and all weekend to do it."     

~

I floated in to work on Monday on a cloud, unable to understand why most of the other security guards I practically sang good morning to looked like someone had pissed in their cereal.  But then I got to my exhibit to find my boss waiting for me and felt myself falling, crashing back down to reality.

"There are some people here who want to talk to you," he said, grim like I'd never seen him.

"About?" I asked but I knew.  It had always been just a matter of time before Bucky decided it was time to go or his past caught up with him.

My boss had stepped in my path to stop me and now he stood aside, gesturing that I should go ahead of him to the elevators up to the admin offices.  "I'll let them tell you."

Fuck.  While we were waiting for the elevator, I slipped my phone out, launched my email from the lock screen and swiped two words:  they're here.  Once I was sure it had sent, I deleted it and the few other emails we'd exchanged then put my phone away, as if I'd done nothing more than check my messages.  Inside, I was dying, praying that Bucky checked the email we'd set up for him for fun and that I could get through this without fucking up, and beneath all that, knowing that at the very least, this was the end.    

It turned out that I didn't have to lie about seeing Bucky or knowing his whereabouts.  I didn't recognize the man in the pictures they showed me.  The man in those pictures was a machine, a predator, a killer.  He was someone they called the Winter Soldier and it was true that I'd never seen that man or had any idea where he was. 

They assured me they believed me but asked to accompany me to my place, just to check things out because he was a dangerous man and it was best to be sure that I was safe.  I sat in a daze in the big black SUV they drove us there in, dreading what might happen, what I might see if Bucky was still there, what he might do when confronted.  I thought of strays and feral animals, how they behaved when cornered and how they got taken down. 

My hand was surprisingly steady as I unlocked the door, my face fixed in a semblance of innocence as I swung it open.  "See? Nobody here."

I stood in the living room as they looked for themselves, covertly glancing around for traces of Bucky.  It was as if he'd never been there, like the last few weeks had been a weird, wonderful dream.  There was one thing, though, but these men didn't pick it up.  I thought of Bucky, wherever he was now, and held it together through the ride back to work and through the rest of my work day. 

Back home, my place had never felt so empty and yet Bucky was still there in the tiniest ways:  his smell in my sheets and some soreness and well-earned bruises on my body.  And the thing that was left behind in plain sight while those men searched in vain:  the fruit basket filled with the plums Bucky had requested from the market.


End file.
